The Sandwich Maker and the Behemoth
by Dove the Unoriginal
Summary: Gantu, Reuben a.k.a. experiment 625, and others in a fairytale parody. Pleakley gets to play the wife role.


The Sandwich-Maker and the Behemoth

A beautiful retelling of a classic fairy-tale... a.k.a. Yet Another Crappy Parody (because there's a million or so versions out there already and one more won't break the camel's back... no, really! Get up yah darn camel!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, across the ocean, on a magical little island known as Kauai, there lived an enormous man with four eyes and purple skin. He and his wife had a ton off kids... 628 to be exact. We're not even counting Leroy. He's over in Rapunzel's story... Hamsterviel is borrowing Angel for the prince role (she has to run around a lot between sets) and renaming her Utena or something. I'm not sure what's going on with that one. He wouldn't tell me anything except that he could tell a better tale than me. Actually, he suggested Bonnie and Clyde for this one and I told him to stuff it because he said it in a very impolite manner.

Anyway, so maybe they just had a ton of nieces and nephews, whose parents had all died in some freak accidents... No, it wasn't pure coincidence! They all died in the same five accidents. Ahem. So the gorgeous wife, with many wigs and one eye and three legs, kept badgering her husband to do something about the monsters. To be honest? She was trying to get him to pick up a parenting book but he just decided to sell them all off into slavery so that he could make back some of the money he lost in un-insured destruction (after having taken them all in, out of the kindness of his wife's heart... Until she realized what little monsters they were. Then they were both on the same page, I tell yah.)

The man decided to get one of his more useful nephews to help him with the selling process, starting with the least useful ones in the bunch. He knew that, eventually, his nephew would start selling things he wasn't supposed to (his nephew really got into his sales pitches) but that was what the dehydrator was waiting for, the minute his little merchant nephew returned home from selling his cousins door-to-door.

Needless to say, the little merchant nephew was gone for many months. He found new homes for all of his cousins, making quite a profit. And really, he was doing them all a favor. The man and his wife were getting really annoying to live with and there just isn't any privacy when you're living with 630 people, all in one house, and most of them technically not house-broken. The dark blue one was the worst but the little merchant nephew was surprised to find a home for him almost immediately. Of course, he had to undersell what his cousin was worth but he eventually found he had to do that with a lot of them.

Finally, only one cousin was left. The little merchant nephew had been very busy and frankly had considered selling himself to someone, rather than having to go back home. His sandwich-making cousin had, meanwhile, been leaving bread crumbs everywhere they went.

"You want a trail back?" the little merchant asked him at one point.

"Nah. I'm just messy," the little sandwich-maker answered.

"Good thing too. I think the birds ate 'em all up. But if you really want a trail, I'm sure I could interest you in this fine bag of gravel."

The little sandwich-maker narrowed his eyes at his cousin and then waved his hand dismissively, while continuing to eat the corned beef, Swiss cheese, and sauerkraut on rye that he'd been carrying with him that morning. It was a dismal day with darkening clouds that hung low on the horizon. They both wanted to make things quick before they got soaked. In the sandwich-maker's case, he was more concerned about his bread rather than his own fur.

The little sandwich-maker pointed and said, "Look, let's just try that weird dump in the clearing up ahead. C'mon, before my buns get stale."

The little merchant nephew shrugged and followed his cousin up to the enormous front door. The place had an eerie, alien feel to it that didn't bother either of them much. Hey, they were a bunch of a little monsters. What did they care?

The little merchant nephew rung the doorbell with his convenient little cane and tipped the brim of his hat back as he looked upward expectantly. They were short. They were used to having to look up at half the people they met. But they weren't quite prepared for the vast block of muscle that greeted them on the stoop with a growling yell.

"Blitznak! WHAT IS IT? Can't you see I'm trying to watch... oh," the behemoth trailed off uncertainly, "What sort of little beasts are you?"

The little merchant explained, indicating his cousin, "Why, only the finest that you'll ever see! Top quality and highly durable. No stains, no burn-marks, and no breaks. Nothing resealed, nothing missing. Can I interest you in one of our last models?"

The behemoth began to scratch his head, not expecting to hear a sales pitch from something he'd never even seen before. He bent at the waist and leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes at the little merchant. Then he glanced at the little sandwich-maker, who was busy wiping the bread crumbs from his hands onto his thighs, while still chewing on what was left in his chubby cheeks.

"...What are you selling?" the behemoth finally asked, not seeing a bag or anything else beyond the two little beasts that stood before him.

"Why, my friend, for you I could be selling anything! This product is just that amazing! A nurse to watch over grandma when she's feeling under the weather, a carpet cleaner, a straight-up hard-seller, a dedicated guard dog..." the little merchant said before catching his breath very briefly.

"Mhmm?" the behemoth hummed with mild interest, still glancing from one to the other with some confusion.

"And, not only that, but an excellent chef, a fine warrior, and a free source of detergent, should you ever need it," the little merchant finished.

"Hey, hey! I'm not doin' any of that... especially not the detergent," the little sandwich-maker complained. Then he looked the behemoth square in the face and walked in confidently.

"But," he admitted, "Yah, know, I kinda like the look of this place. Very roomy. Oh, I like the TV. Hey, is that a Stark-3000 model of...? GAH!"

The behemoth picked up the intruder and squeezed him just enough to get his displeasure across. He poked the little sandwich-maker in his big, red nose and then dropped him back on the doorstep beside his cousin.

"No! Bad dog," the behemoth snapped.

"WHAT? Excuse me, I am NOT a dog. In fact, I'm quite a stud. You're just so big that all the brain cells devoted to those puny eyes of yers must be spendin' all their time on tryin' not to squash everything with yer humongous patookie," the sandwich-maker snapped.

"HEY!" the behemoth said, blue eyes wide with surprise, "My patookie is not that big. Wait, why am I even arguing with you?"

And so saying, he tried to shut the door. The little merchant tsked the whole time, having told his cousin not to be so forthright, and a little more civil, if he ever wanted to find somewhere else to stay. But before the door could close all the way, the little sandwich-maker shoved his foot in its path. It hurt when the door tried to slide through his ankle but his leg held, as it was incapable of applying enough force to break the little sandwich-maker's unusually sturdy bones.

"Buddy, yer the last house on the block. Actually, you're the only house on this block. We got a little lost in the woods and Grandma's House this ain't. So either you keep me or I'm doing something drastic," the little sandwich-maker threatened.

"Like what?" the behemoth sneered from the now widening crack in the door.

"Like kicking you out and keeping the house," the little sandwich-maker insisted.

"My friends, I don't want to keep you from closing the deal on your own but I'm also not looking to cause a civil disturbance over this. If we could all just step outside for a minute? I really think this is the one. Yes, sir, you look like you need a sandwich-maker," the little merchant said.

"I do?" the behemoth said, startled as the sandwich-maker very slowly inched the door wider with his hands. He then looked to the little merchant, who was pointing the end of his short cane up at the behemoth for dramatic effect.

"Please forgive his manners, sir. He just needs a little etiquette training and he's good to go."

"I have manners!" the sandwich-maker snapped, before crossing his arms over his chest in a huff, just as the behemoth began opening the door again, "But he was rude first!"

"Ahem... would you mind if I spoke to your da-da, little fellow?" the behemoth said mockingly.

The merchant blinked and pointed at himself when he asked, "Who, me? Oh, no sir! The fellow you want lives on the other side of the island. I admit, perhaps that would be for the best. He can tell you all about this magnificent creature's facts and features."

The little sandwich-maker blinked and titled his head to the side as he regarded his cousin.

"Are you serious?" the sandwich-maker asked, "Jumba's gonna kill us if he thinks we're bringin' fish-sticks home with us."

The merchant grinned at the sandwich-maker reassuringly and offered his hand to the behemoth in order to shake. The behemoth simply stared at his much smaller palm and then picked them both up, one in each hand (though the merchant didn't fit as well in his fist as the sandwich-maker did, seeing as the sandwich-maker was a bit smaller overall.)

"Fine. I'll tell this Jumba person to cease and desist harassing me (through you two)," the behemoth said, as he fumbled in one of his pockets.

The little sandwich-maker obliged by squirming his arms free and pulling the key out of the large pocket in the behemoth's tight black pants, before jamming the key-chain-sized remote roughly in-between the behemoth's fingers.

"Ow! Not so hard," the behemoth griped. He shifted his broad fingers a bit and pushed the button with his thumb, making his house beep briefly before he began walking away from it in a series of giant steps that shook the ground beneath them lightly.

When the wife got home from yet another wise shopping decision at the local corner stores, she was amazed to see the roof on their house shaking as if something was wobbling the beams. When she rushed inside, all three legs pedaling at a surprising speed, she found herself facing two of the little monsters, her husband, and a giant the size of which she'd never seen before sitting around their living room and drinking coffee.

"HEY! You're going to break the roof if you're not careful," she squealed in a quavering, high-pitched voice.

The man shrugged and sipped from his cup before stating, "I make him pay damages if he does. Come, have drink with us, little one."

"Oh, no. The last time you gave any of those kids coffee, I was cleaning this house up for a solid week! I'm going to write in my diary and plan my outfit for the fair, before the inevitable bone-chilling horror (that is this family) occurs," she answered with a tight frown, her one eye narrowed sternly.

Then she carried her bags into the bedroom and slammed the door with one of her three feet.

The man blinked all four eyes and then looked up at the behemoth, "Eh. She is... emotional. So, you will take these two off our hands, correct?"

"No," the behemoth said, his patience having worn thin after an hour of coffee and careful arguing about what was going to be done with the man's two remaining nephews, "I don't care if they're brats or dogs or radioactive thermal nuclear devices."

"Really? Hah! That is big load off of my mind," the man said, "The, uh, last part."

The behemoth turned his head to the side and one brow lifted as he regarded the man.

"Anyway, I should be going," he said as he set his cup, which was really one of their mixing bowls (with a bent fork jammed into one side, for use as a make-shift handle) onto the coffee table.

When he stood up, he looked down to see the sandwich-maker doing likewise and moving to stand beside him.

"Ready to go when you are, pal," the sandwich-maker said, looking up at the behemoth with a smile on his orange, fuzzy face.

"... Where do you think you're going? You're staying here! I've been over this TWELVE times!" the behemoth said, holding up all six fingers and then looking at them confusedly before clenching one into a fist and holding up only two fingers next, "Times two."

"Yah don't really mean it," the little sandwich-maker said, "You got a rose or a shoe or a goose with golden eggs that I can mess up, so you'll stop saying that?"

"NO! ... You don't lay golden eggs, do you?" the behemoth asked. The man laughed loudly, gathering everyone's attention all at once.

"I was trying that idea once," the man said while shaking his head, "It resulted in very messy mistake. This homunculus, er, nephew of mine is strong and swift, like hero of legends... but more useless."

The behemoth scowled and pushed the sandwich-maker away gently just as the sandwich-maker opened his mouth to protest the man's comment irritably. The sandwich-maker looked up, feeling interrupted by the action, and glanced at the behemoth with more irritation.

The behemoth sighed and squatted down on one knee beside the little sandwich-maker, before patting him somewhat gently upon his fluffy noggin.

"I'm sure you're a great kid... er... lad... thing. But I'm a behemoth! I don't need some cute little runt ruining my scary style. Got it?" the behemoth asked.

In the meantime, the little merchant shook his head and, having finished his own coffee, decided to try his trade on the man instead.

"I could sell those magic beans you made while I was gone, Jumba... If you keep me around a little longer, you'll have double what I made from selling off all my cousins to the fine, upstanding citizens of this beautiful town," the merchant said.

Jumba rubbed his chin and thought about it, noting, "Only if nephew is able to sell some of wife's uglier dresses as well."

"She doesn't HAVE any ugly dresses," the merchant said with a chuckle.

The man shrugged and grinned, explaining, "She SAYS they are ugly, so they are. I have learned not to argue over such pointless things."

The little sandwich-maker, meanwhile, simply continued blinking at the behemoth as they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, the behemoth just decided to assume the little sandwich-maker understood, and began getting up from his crouched position. Once he stood straight, the little sandwich-maker suddenly shook his head, as if no longer stunned, and tapped rapidly at the behemoth's calf with his finger.

"Ding ding ding!" the little sandwich-maker cried, "8th floor, going up!"

The behemoth blinked and stooped just long enough to scoop the little sandwich-maker up into his hand. He held his palm out flap and the sandwich-maker sitting on it comfortably. Then the behemoth closed one eye, frowning, and peered at him closely.

"I am not an elevator," the behemoth said softly.

The sandwich-maker leapt up from his seated position so fast the behemoth barely had time to register when the little beastie kissed him full on the lips. The sandwich-maker was so small in comparison that the behemoth could barely feel it and the sensation soon left his mind as he began to notice the whole room seem to spin and grow larger.

Before the behemoth knew it, he could no longer hold onto the little sandwich-maker and let him drop to the floor, which quickly wasn't as far to go as it had been. The little sandwich-maker laughed loudly when he landed on his feet (though he lost his balance just enough to stumble) and threw his arms around the behemoth's waist, now that he was capable of it. The behemoth soon found himself almost eye-to-eye with the four blinking eyes of the man. Then he looked in horror at the amused little merchant, who wasn't too much shorter, and down to the smallest one of all... the little sandwich-maker, who was playing with the long, dark blue cape now attached to the behemoth's shirt collar.

"This is definitely your color," the little sandwich-maker said but the behemoth ignored him.

The behemoth touched his own forehead and felt a cold metal crown there. He looked down at a set of long, flowing, white sleeves on a shirt that hadn't even existed before, down at his black tunic that now seemed to be made of silk and trimmed with fine blue embroidery, and finally noticed that his black tights had turned a handsome blue to match his eyes.

"BLITZNAK!" the former behemoth cried, "I was enjoying being a behemoth!"

"Aloha!" the sandwich-maker cried, "You're a prince!"

"NO no no! I don't want to go back to the Galactic Kingdom. Do you know how much it costs to keep a castle out there?" the prince groaned.

The sandwich-maker grinned and smacked the prince's back reassuringly but it ended up a bit rougher than he meant to. The prince's crown nearly fell off and he had to straighten it irritably before putting his arms unthinkingly around the little sandwich-maker's shoulders. He gulped when he saw the cute little sandwich-maker a little more clearly and sighed.

"Oh, for crying out loud... why didn't you tell me you were one of those stupid handsome hero types? You don't look it at all! And usually the ones that act courteous get the moral reward and... hey! That's right! What gives? You didn't even earn this," the prince griped, "And I didn't even want to be a prince! I have to want the same thing first, before it can happen."

Jumba chuckled and lead his last nephew, by the shoulder, to his workshop of alchemical evil.

"Is not my problem anymore! Is yours. You get kiss wish-fulfillment, you have to keep wish fulfiller," Jumba explained on his way through the door, "Now about selling beans. I hear there are a lot of Jacks out there. Surely one will buy! You get more than a cow, I keep you around a little longer, merchant nephew."

"You've got yourself a deal," the merchant answered, "Now let's talk profit and what kind of cut I get for selling experimental food..."

The little sandwich-maker wagged his stubby tail and purred, while leaning his fluffy cheek into the prince's brawny, muscular chest. The prince groaned.

"I hate my life."

The little sandwich-maker smiled and patted the prince's back before trying to comfort him.

"Aww, c'mon, prince. We're pals! We'll do somethin' about that triple mortgage of yours. Together. I promise."

The prince sighed and scratched behind one of the little sandwich-maker's dangling ears, to which the sandwich-maker only purred louder and thumped his leg against the floor.

"I guess it couldn't hurt. At least I didn't run into any giant-slayers or thieves... or little red riding hood (that poor girl.) This story could've been so much worse," the prince said.

Just then, the Cute and Fluffy Blue Knight broke into the house, riding upon a large, carnivorous dinosaur (complete with tack, bridle, saddle, and a little horned helmet.) The Blue Knight waved his five foot, beautifully crafted sword and growled in a barely decipherable language. Queen Lilo sat behind him, yelling with equal delight. She held on tight with one arm and waved the Princess Scrump from her other hand.

"Hold it right there!" Queen Lilo said, "Prince Gantu is betrothed to Princess Scrump and he has been ever since they were babies together!"

The little sandwich-maker blinked calmly and said, "You're kidding... Isn't Scrump a little young for that?"

But the prince took it a little more seriously and cried, "BLITZNAK!"

And so ends my tale. The end.


End file.
